Writing As Resistance

Over the past week, I’ve struggled to write. I’ve struggled to do many of the things that typically bring me joy or at least make me feel remotely content. Sleep has been elusive. These are difficult times for our country. We’re living in a moment when our democracy demands our attention, stirring our passions, forcing us to decide who and what we believe. It gnaws at our consciousness even as we may try to ignore it. We can’t turn away. And we shouldn’t. As citizens and especially as writers, we must engage.

I agonized over writing this post thinking that taking space here to address this topic may be labeled inappropriate. I might be subverting the unwritten writer code that we can’t risk being perceived as polarizing. Some would assert that this forum for writers is not the place for anything remotely political. They may be right, but I believe that silence is also political.

We often look to fiction as a means to escape the inescapable. Every summer, publishers promote the pastel covers of our favorite beach reads and many of us curl up with them well into fall and winter to cocoon ourselves in the warmth of stories we hope will have happy endings. Alternately, some of us read dystopian novels where humanity scrambles for survival in a dark, nightmarish world. We cloak ourselves in the illusion that dystopia is far-off and unimaginable to make our current reality more bearable. Unfortunately, we’re living the cautionary tale we fear.

When I talk to my friends in writing organizations, we often lament about how helpless we feel in this time when objective truth is pilloried, marginalized people are re-victimized, and hard-won rights are in danger of being stripped away. Our hand-wringing remains constant.

Now is not the time to stop writing or to write only to help our readers and ourselves escape reality. We can use our writing to fight our way out of what scares and overwhelms us. Some have labeled this “writing as resistance.” Yes, I want to resist injustice and intolerance, but I also want to foster understanding and build empathy. I’m not advocating that we write novels that promote a partisan stance. That’s didactic propaganda that keeps us kicking and screaming from our ideological corners. The best fiction remains a place where we can immerse ourselves in the world of characters who grapple with systems of oppression, demand agency, and struggle to make sense out of a complex world. It’s still all about story first.

As writers, we’re equipped for battle with our laptops and smartphones, or typewriters and pens, and access to Wi-Fi practically anywhere we go. Our bunkers may be our home offices, subway trains, or coffee shops. Our greatest weapon is our gift for writing. A talent we can use to create characters and tell stories that make people think and feel, challenge our assumptions about each other, and help us move forward in turbulent times.

Throughout history and in contemporary works, literature has held up a mirror to society, showing us who we are and asking us who we want to be. When I first read The Grapes of Wrath as a young student, I had no idea how political it was. John Steinbeck set this American classic during the Great Depression and followed a family of Oklahoma sharecroppers who rebelled against a corrupt political system and authoritarian institutions such as banks and farm owners. It’s a story of laborers, disenfranchised migrants traveling west seeking the American Dream while social inequality keeps it just outside their reach.

Sometimes, the most effective resistance in fiction is a story that upends the predominant narrative about a group of people. The contemporary short story collection Heads of the Colored People by Nafissa Thompson-Spires does just that. After the election of Barack Obama as president, some declared we had entered a post-racial era. Not so fast. Thompson-Spires introduces readers to blackness outside of the typical struggle narrative. She explores trauma visited upon black bodies in the nuanced, unexpected stories of everyone from university professors and yogis to anime cosplayers.

Immigration has been at the center of our national debate in recent years and I’m drawn to novels that humanize this issue, which divides us politically. Currently, I’m listening to the audio version of The Book of Unknown Americans, the story of two families – one from Mexico and the other from Panama – that came to America for the sake of their children. The author, Cristina Henriquez, lets us hear the voices and stories of men and women from all over Latin America who are redefining home. However, at the core of this novel is a love story between two immigrant teenagers. What I’ve understood of the immigrant experience has been limited to news stories. Hernriquez doesn’t address the political context in which her novel takes place; instead, she lets us get close to Maribel and Mayor, two kids finding love and figuring out what it means to be American.

At a time in our nation’s history when so many of us believe our voices are being diminished, this is the time for writers to tell the untold stories. We can amplify the voices of the unheard. We can change minds and hearts. Sometimes that feels like an added burden when we’re already depleted and perhaps disillusioned. Still, I believe that the choices we make about what to write and what stories we tell are how we reclaim our power. That’s where our hope lies. Yes, that’s political and I don’t apologize for it.

How do you view your role as a writer during these troubled political times? Do writers have a unique responsibility right now? Why? Why not? Which authors and novels are helping us fight our way back to our best selves and a place of hope?

Nancy E. Johnson is a writer with an Emmy-nominated, award-winning television journalism background. Her stories often explore life’s complexities at the intersection of race and class. She was named runner-up for the 2018 James Jones First Novel Fellowship Award. Her work has appeared in O, The Oprah Magazine and has received support from the Tin House Summer Novel Workshop and Kimbilio Fiction. Also, Nancy is an advisory board member for Author Accelerator’s diversity scholarship program. When Nancy’s not writing, you can often find her exploring bookstores, festivals, and restaurants in her hometown of Chicago. Currently, Nancy is revising her first novel.

Comments

When you look at royalty statements you may think that the impact of one novel is not great. Tens of thousands of sales in a country of hundreds of millions. Leaders who only watch TV. What impact can a work of fiction have?

However, every novel is a rock dropped in the stream. Over time I have seen the stream change course. Sometimes the stream seems ready to change course, too.

The recent influx of new voices in all genres is encouraging but consider that the decisions to publish have been made by people in corporations who have no financial incentive to disturb the river of English (note) literature. But many, me included, have recognized that need and imperative and are doing something about it.

Best of all, the writing is happening. Even in a dystopia there is resistance, and we’re not (yet anyway) living in a true dystopia. If the writing and publishing continue, we won’t be.

The stream wants to change, and it is doing so. Keep it up, Nancy. All stories are political. All stories have power. Your post today too.

Hi, Don. Thanks for your perspective as a leader in the publishing industry. I’m glad to hear the stream is changing even in the face of financial incentive to advance the status quo. It’s been exciting to see all the bold, new voices in fiction making necessary waves for change. Many of those books are getting the widespread recognition they deserve.

Thank you for the reminder of the power of one book, one author, one story.

I’m so glad you wrote this, Nancy! Even stories that, at first glance, offer escape or entertainment can help people take heart in difficult times. I think it’s important that, as distracting as things are right now, we channel our upset and outrage into motivation. I agree with Don that all stories are political. Even (maybe especially!) fairytales. Disney aside (don’t get me started), they are potent metaphors for recognizing wolves and speaking truth to power.

Writing has been hard. It feels like shouting into the abyss. I’ve been accused of being self-indulgent and privileged. The tone was, “You’re just sitting there and writing while the world burns. What a despicable little Nero you are.”

But you noted that now is the time when the voices of those being silenced most need a microphone. My writing can play a role in that. Especially since I often write LGBTQ characters.

Writing alone won’t fix everything, and I know that. So I’m adjusting the budget to donate to worthy causes. I’m calling my elected officials and writing letters in hopes of swaying their actions.

But I write stories. Because it’s how I process what I think and feel. It’s how I engage the world. And it’s what I do best.

Ruth, what you said about “shouting into the abyss” resonates so well with me. When we post on social media about the state of our country and world, it feels as if we’re shouting across a divide that can never be bridged. Then we sink into helplessness, thinking our voices don’t matter. But they do.

Yes, writing is how we engage the world. What an incredible way to amplify our voices and help people see “the other”…whether it’s people they don’t truly know and understand or another perspective they hadn’t considered.

Oh, my dear. Writiing (and art) is precisely what one should do while the world burns. As poet Adrienne Rich observed, “the personal is political.” So, do your civic duty—write something about what you know to be true!!! I agree that the current is begging to change course with new voices.

Nancy, I think my writing is always coming from a place of me attempting to explore why people behave the way they do, what came before, cause and effect, and what, if anything, can actually change people. It’s me trying to understand other people and myself, where our beliefs and prejudices came from, perhaps in order to pinpoint the very event or person or influence that pushed us in one direction rather than another, and from there to work out what kind of person or event or influence could push us in a better, more loving, more understanding direction.

I think the key to writing that addresses the political but doesn’t feel like propaganda is that it tends toward self-examination and pointing the finger toward “us” rather than “them.” At least, those are the books that feel transformative to me–whether I’m reading them or writing them. The ones that show me my own faults in a gentle way and allow me to realize for myself what needs to change. Descriptive rather than prescriptive. Because when we come up with our own solutions to our own issues, it’s more likely to lead to change than someone else telling us how we *should* be, which, in our stubborn humanity, we bristle against. You know?

I don’t think I’ve ever set out with the intention that, “in writing this story, I’m going to right this wrong.” But as stories develop, they often inform the public conversation in some way.

Erin, yes, “descriptive rather than prescriptive.” That’s exactly it. I think fiction is one of the safest spaces for people to do that important work of self-examination. The characters and the story raise questions that force us to interrogate our own biases and understanding of the world.

Your upcoming novel explores racial prejudice. The stories you share from our painful past inform where we are today as a country. That’s political. And important.

Thanks, Nancy. I do think that one of the reasons We Hope for Better Things resonates is that it’s a story about people who are coming to terms with their *own* beliefs and prejudices, not wagging a finger at others’ issues. It’s coming to see the issues you have inside you, even when you’re well-intentioned, as a problem. “Interrogating” ourselves, as you said.

At first glance, my WIP seems entirely off topic in relation to this culture and these times. In trying to process the overwhelming news of each day, I’ve often thought “What’s the use?” as my writing appears to shrink and shrivel by comparison. Yet, inspired by this excellent essay, I realize that my work does make its own tiny contribution to honest reflection, and I’m encouraged to proceed. Thanks, Nancy.

Anna, we’ve all thrown up our hands and asked “What’s the use?” during these difficult days for our nation. As you realize, now is not the time for you to shrink. Now more than ever, we need your voice and your novel in the conversation.

I’m glad you’re encouraged and I look forward to reading your book one day!

In the 1996 film “A Time to Kill,” Samuel Jackson plays a father whose child is killed by whites. He takes revenge, and is put on trial for murder. Matthew McConaughey plays the young defense attorney. The climax of the movie is McConaughey’s closing argument, in which he asks the jury to visualize what he now describes in grim detail–the child’s horrible fate. “Now, picture the little girl as white.”
For me, the scene conveys what words can do. They can create experiences that compel readers to imagine lives other than their own. The words have the power to short-circuit our egos long enough to admit a different reality from the one we know.

Barry, that scene from “A Time to Kill” is a perfect example of forcing people to check their own prejudices and recognize the humanity in others. That’s something we can all do in our stories. That’s how we resist a single narrative. That’s how we change things.

“We’re living in a moment when our democracy demands our attention, stirring our passions, forcing us to decide who and what we believe.”

Thank you for writing this article! Your words speak to my soul as I prepare a book proposal to send to my agent. I’m taking big risks with my 4th novel, but your article gives me the courage to press on.

Ah, Kathleen, I’m glad my piece resonated with you. Kudos to you for taking big risks with your fourth novel! It sounds like an important book, a rock that will cause ripples in the stream as Donald Maass said above. I look forward to reading it one day!

Nancy, thank you! This post is so welcome and needed–I’ve been thinking lately how much social change throughout history has been predicated or carried along on a wave of art–literature or visual art or movies or even TV shows that shine light on the dark places and open us up to new ways of thinking or looking at social, political, moral issues. More than ever I realize how important art is to a functioning, growing society, and how incumbent on all of us it is to use our voices to shine that light, especially now–even in stories or other works that may not seem revolutionary at first blush (who would have imagined Ellen or Will and Grace or Modern Family could help change the world?). Thanks for this wonderful post.

Tiffany, yes, art has had such a huge impact on culture and politics for a long time. Your examples from television are spot-on. I’d add Norman Lear’s shows from back in the day, too. The current YA bestseller “The Hate U Give” (and upcoming movie) is another example of political art taking center stage.

In terms of lighter, funnier fare, you’re absolutely right. Those books and shows are often the most disarming and thus revolutionary of all.

S.K., I couldn’t turn away from the news this past week either. As a former journalist, I’m a news junkie. Still, it overwhelms me these days. That’s when I know it’s time to turn to my manuscript because that’s where I have a voice. My novel is a small, but important form of resistance and empathy-building in a world that sorely needs it.

Your novel about a woman struggling for truth is more important than ever. There are lessons that your character in Victorian England can teach us today about the power of a woman’s voice!

Story has always been a bridge to understanding what we can’t possibly experience ourselves. If we don’t use these magic portals to grow empathy, compassion, and stir action, then we’ve missed our chance, misspent our fortune as writers. Readers know when we’re preaching, so our stories have to be organic and accessible.

Lynn, you’re absolutely right that we need to avoid preaching or being didactic. Fiction provides one of the best ways to challenge people’s thinking in a non-threatening way. Again, the story and the characters must lead always.

Nancy, thank you for this post. It was just what I needed to read today. I wrote your words”silence is political” on a post-it and stuck it on my computer to remind myself to push through my own silences, times when the words won’t come, times when I feel no one will want to read about my world of California’s desperately poor Central Valley. You reminded me that not only do I have a right to tell this story I have an obligation as a woman , a writer and a citizen to let these voices be heard. Thank you.

Jane, I have to constantly remind myself to push through the silence. We often question whether our stories and voices matter. They do. Will they make a difference in a nation where the political noise is deafening? They will.

Great post! I find that NOT including perspective(s) is difficult even in my “nonpolitical” WIP. Fiction writers are in a unique position to help show truths wrapped in entertainment. As I’m studying history while writing a contemporary mystery tied to our history, it’s impossible not to see corollaries that reflect in my work. I wish everyone would take the time/effort to learn how we got to this political moment, how it’s similar to our past, and why (to understate) it’s not okay. We need to do everything we can, as citizens and writers, to help correct the course.

Jen, I definitely believe that we tell universal truths in our fiction. The best novels do it without overtly espousing political views. That being said, when we reveal how our characters make money, their status, their race, gender, sexual orientation, etc., it becomes inherently political in my view.

I agree that we have a responsibility to be part of the change for the better through the stories we choose to tell.

Nancy, I would be here commenting early on, but I’ve been on line posting my recent blog that deals with equality for women. I thank you for this and find all the comments uplifting in many ways. I believe from my core that writers fuel the page with empathy. Yes, not all characters are going to possess qualities that we might want to see in MORE people than in FEWER. But the writer has access to the basics of character, to creating so many interesting variants on human nature. As you wrote above:

We can use our writing to fight our way out of what scares and overwhelms us. Some have labeled this “writing as resistance.” Yes, I want to resist injustice and intolerance, but I also want to foster understanding and build empathy.

Creating characters who inspire us to be better or who demand that we question our own decisions and prejudices is all about the conversation. We must have it–in many forms. That one aspect of our culture gives me hope. We are free to explore and to question and to CHANGE. May that always be part of our culture, freedom of speech, so precious and necessary.

Nancy, there’s a quote I like that says, “The poet is the truest historian.” To me that says that works of imagination can plumb depths of human character, situation and consequence. As many have suggested here, it’s not that our fictional works have to hit some cultural or political nails with a sledgehammer, but that a story can be woven with threads of conscience and consciousness, and implicitly lead to, if not answers, honest questions.

Incidentally, I’d first heard that quote attributed to Homer, but later read that Homer perhaps never existed, and his works (The Iliad, The Odyssey, and probably lots of comic books) might have been written by a committee of sorts. But even if he didn’t say it, I would have voted “aye” for the quote at the 10am Tuesday meeting.

Thanks for an important post. We resist in many ways, some large, some small, but all can have meaning.

Thanks for your insightful perspective. Even if Homer didn’t exist in human form, this idea attributed to him is very much alive in our conversation. I’ve always thought of historians being obligated to immutable, objective accounting of events, while the poet can explore shades of meaning. That being said, I like your interpretation. Often, it’s the questions we’re after in fiction, not necessarily answers.

I agree that we resist in many ways, large and small. That word “resistance” sometimes has a subversive connotation and people tend to shy away from it. But when we’re sitting alone at our writing desks damning the muse that hasn’t come, it’s motivating to think of our smallest of stories as being revolutionary.

Every writer in every era has a voice, and should be heard. No different to voices in a crowd – or a choir. As an actress and musician (besides a writer) the each voice or part or instrumental contributes to the whole of the choral piece or symphony. in the same way, each story told contributes to the whole of our story as a society.

I agree, Robin, about writers having a voice and being heard. Unfortunately, some voices throughout history have been marginalized and diminished. I’m doing what I can personally and in my own sphere of influence to amplify those voices.

The words “silence is also political” pierced my soul. For many years, my role as a PR practitioner has required me to represent the voice of others. Think I’d like to stop being silent and voice my own stance through the written word. Thanks for the inspiration Nancy.

This article really resonated for me–thank you. And the books you shared as examples are so powerful. The Book of Unknown Americans in particular has haunted me since reading it a few years ago. Storytelling is so essential, especially in such a polarized political climate like now. We have to continue adding our voices to the conversation.

Exactly, Sarahlyn. There are so many phenomenal books that can help light our path and lead the way. Yes, The Book of Unknown Americans has stayed with me, too. You’ll have to also check out the memoir, Heavy, by Kiese Laymon, which releases next week. I met the author at Tin House and have read excerpts. Another important book to add to your list.

hello there, a lot of what you have written had me nodding as I read it. The first paragraph up to sleep being elusive, having no joy for doing things is a sadly big part of my life (harassment which goes undealt by the Council landlord, despite an Executive visiting me and seeing that I’m crippled with lack ofsleep and still in pyjamas in the afternoon ..)
The point you make about writing the frustration out and being equipped for battle with laptops gave affirmation to what I’m forced to do with painful and bloodshot eyes, blurry vision, fighting against what is a punitive landlord. Some other points I got lost with, maybe due to an exhausted brain. Overall, this article resonates and I thank you for the points you raise about fighting back, making a point to encourage people to think differently; my landlord has a disability prejudice against me and I am determined (armed with laptop -as you said) to fight my point out, despite his bias in favour of the woman who tortures me every night (2 years now) with his blessing. His stance was “I have a television in my bedroom too you know. It’s quite normal, hehe.” I was appalled, gobsmacked and shocked at his words. Thankfully, I recorded the meeting on audio. If the litigation person I sent all paperwork to upon her request – has interest in my case, the executive may soon eat his words (I would hope for him collecting his P45, but maybe that is a fairy tale..) As you can see, your post inspired my response with a lot of emotion. We shall fight what is wrong, and for me personally I say, “tell people when they are wrong or have done wrong to you. Only then can they know to put it right.” – In this scenario the Director of Housing is reluctant to do his job (local government..) so I take the matter up with the Chief executive, then further if needed. Stay strong! One day at a time. A song that helps me stay on the track, John Taylor – Everything’s Gonna Be Okay (One Day At A Time). During his solo period away from Duran Duran. That’s all for now, I hope you have a lovely day. Bless.